


Quipus

by happymaybe



Category: Akame - Fandom, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Embedded Images, M/M, mangled attempt at magic realism, proceed at your own risk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happymaybe/pseuds/happymaybe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not perfect, never has been perfect and will never be. Always a meter short or an hour early; unsaid rage and spoken lies. But they’re here, together, defying time zones and exhaustion. And they make it, somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quipus

**Author's Note:**

> Graphics by [blackfrog88](http://blackfrog66.livejournal.com/). First posted at [riverstale](http://riverstale.livejournal.com/) on 2010.

 

 

He’s running upstairs.

Spun colored cotton threads are burning in the distance, thousand of cords slowly turning to ashes.

The angry South California afternoon sun stings his Mongol-descent _huang_ skin, leaving a faint orange, almost white glow. But his hair is like dark ripples of water sliding along the strands, heavy against the steady, humid air; bare feet taking him a little bit higher, closer to the heavens.

The thick, musky smell of burnt coiled thread is luring him onwards, urging him to go further, just over there, it’s almost at hand –

A voice is heard, somewhere, he can never be too sure. The sky above is golden and blinding, like the future.

He slips and wakes up.

*** 

Kame balls his fists, panting, the sheet creasing beneath him. In his bleary-eyed, muddled state, he’s certain he has just lost something vital.

Key turning, machinery clicking.

The dread is slipping away and in a second it will be forgotten.

***

 

 

Kame focuses in the darkness and catches the movement in the corner. The other’s voice is stifled and barely-awake; his deep voice whispering strings of words that seem foreign and distant. He seems like a shadow dweller preparing for a kill, but also a bit hesitant and almost fearful.

A loosely tied robe hugs over the huddled figure and the terrycloth slips further off his shoulder with every small movement. A patch of skin can be seen, seemingly immaculate under the soft auburn light coming from the lamp on his left side.

The withdrawn shadow dweller, despite himself, glows ever so brilliantly under the light.

The air in the room is icy, a bit harsh. On the far side, the window sees the muted bluish shadow of the bustling city nightlife below. The clear glass sparkles as if it had rained and the last few trails of raindrops still cling to the slick surface and reflect the city lights, like a million tiny diamond crusted gems.

Kame shifts and rolls onto his stomach, nuzzling closer into the dip of the pillow. The blanket twists around his calves, the material gliding down to the hard angles of his hipbone, thin sheet of sweat accentuating the lines of his naked back.

With closed eyes, Kame exhales quietly.

After only a heartbeat or two, he finds himself back on a rooftop with thousands of cigarette butts on the floor.

***

Kame grips the railing as he heaves himself up and balances on the edge. The metal feels cold against his warm fingers. He breathes through his nose, deep but not overwhelming, and the world smells like a new book; he can almost feel the crisp pages, the firm leather bound spine and glossy, embossed title in the surrounding air.

The world below is cold and graying. People going on their ways like ants moving, stocking up for the rainy seasons. The quaint view has an old world charm but with a new world constricted fear.

A warmer wind blows, and it feels like home.

***

_“Yes. The club tour will most probably push through till October. They’re exci – I’m excited.”_

Jin bends down and covers his head with his arms.

***

 

Seconds before he jumps, Tsukuyomi appears. Her face is small and her skin is like an old, fragile pinkish white china that’s been passed down from the grandmother to the daughter to the niece. Her eyes are liquid black, fearless and forceful like a thunderstorm in the middle of summer.

Kame feels comfort as she reaches up to him and touches his elbow.

“Do not be such a fool,” she whispers. “They are coming.”

 

***

_“No, I’m at the studio – Yes. Overtime.”_ There’s a movement in the darkness, a quiet laugh and a silent creak in the sofa follows. “ _Must finish some recordings.”_

***

Kame hears the yell. No words contained, not a sound of immense distress either - just a long, strangled cry from somewhere. He spins around searching for it, and gasps, suddenly there’s no wind, no air.

It’s as if every color in the world has died and faded away, forgotten, and a hundred shades of gray washes over the horizon. It paints such portrait that even the most ferocious vultures would mourn upon sight.

Awe washes over him as he trembles ever so slightly, even as he remains standing there, staring and hearing –

Who is – Is God talking to him?

Tsukuyomi reaches up to his forehead and kisses him gently, lips soft against his skin. A rush of shock rushes through him before his nerves settle into an odd stillness. He feels an urge, a subdued static from deep within him and before he’s even aware of it, he and Tsukuyomi are singing in Quechua.

***

Jin walks to the window. The glass is cold under his fingertips.

***

 

The deity floats at his side, like a ghost, but Kame senses no fear. It’s only right for Tsukuyomi to be with him in this moment. With the image of a familiar sunset behind his closed eyelids, he sings like he was born just to sing this moment, praise flowing from his mouth easily with no hesitation:

 

_Come this moment, surrender it all_  
 _Living this moment, raging fear_  
 _Never forgotten, we’ll never forget_  
 _Welded by fire, we need this_  
 _We need this –_

He’s on his toes, hands reaching out to the skies. The music is soothing, carrying beats of raw pleasure, of passion he had never thought he’s yearning for. He’s asking for forgiveness, right now, for everything, for whatever they had done, for whatever lies ahead.

  _Oh, please, oh, please_

 

 A cannon is firing, down below; loud, blasting, and disturbing. Kame exhales, loses his concentration but he tries to keep up, still tries to –

***

_“…I miss you too.”_

Kame curls deeper into the bed.

***

Thunder is heard and a flash of lightning follows shortly afterwards. Bright, streaking light clear above the skies. A softer voice is heard somewhere, above perhaps, Kame can’t be too sure.

Everything is moving too fast, spinning to fast. Too many blinding lights and deafening static, in which the intermittent daunting roar of cannon firing below overlays with.

The wind blows and the thousand cigarette butts on the floor flare swiftly. The smell of nicotine and heat consume him, slowly burning his insides.

But he can’t scream – he’s singing, arms wide open, and palms facing up. Tsukuyomi moves behind him, glides into the air, and touches both his ears, her fingers cold as winter’s tears, and a sudden freezing coldness sears through his body, his guts twisting due to the change of temperature. He’s going to burst, die probably, but he’s not afraid –

***

Kame’s eyes flutter open and everything is black. He chokes down a sob, eyes blinking, tears on the edge of his lashes. His hair is sticky from sweat and uncomfortable on his forehead and all the way down to his nape.

He can still hear Tsukuyomi’s song echoing in the distance, notes dying, the dream slipping far, _far_ away into extinction. The trance of praise will be another lie of his subconscious mind, of a nonexistent state of being.

Kame breathes and in the stillness of the darkness around him, he feels the weight over his shoulder, like of an arm, slipping away, leaving him alone, without burden.

It will only take Jin to lock eyes with him for Kame to forget about the romanticized Quechua and Tsukuyomi’s gentle voice singing alongside his.

 ***

 

Jin has moved to the other side of the room, and is presently standing in front a seamless, bent-corner window, still on the phone and robe finally belted properly on his hips. His shapeless, tousled black hair contrasts with the thick downy material of his robe. His bare toes snugly curl against the carpet.

Jin smiles at him, quite surprised to see him awake, and gestures something at him. Kame is too distracted to figure out what exactly.

Their room is facing west so there’s no chance of seeing a sunrise but strays of silver light can be seen somewhere beyond the dimmed horizon.

The moon is bidding good-bye for now. At this corner of this world, the day is starting.

***

He makes no movement, merely watches the other converse with someone probably in the same continent as they are at moment or maybe, on the other side of the world, sixteen hours earlier.

He tries to not count but instincts call for it.

***

Fourteen hours, two continents, three countries and a foot-long list of things to do and lies to tell.

***

He’s not sure how much time has passed but Jin has drawn the curtains close together, soft morning sunlight streaming through the gap between the drapes. It’s the summer and the skies seem brighter than usual. The long streaks of sunlight dances in the floor like the moonlight would in unstill waters.

He’s distracted, thinking of things miles away, as he tugs the blanket closer around him and covers himself. There’s a sting when he rolls onto his side. After all these years, it still hurts. Kame hides a smile against the warmth of his pillow.

Jin seems young as pads his way over to the bed. Against the morning light, Jin’s silhouette is like just another dream.

Jin drops the phone on to the side table, and looks apologetic. His face scrunches up in thinly veiled distress as he crawls under the cover, spooning himself against Kame's back.

“Morning. I’m sorry. I just needed to –”

Kame turns, elbows propped hard against the bedding, and kisses Jin’s jaw line easily, “It’s okay.” First words of the day – oh how he wishes to be the last one’s as well.

Jin frowns, sliding an arm under the other’s waist. “What time is your flight?”

Kame takes his time answering, his hands slipping under Jin’s robe, grazing the skin there, fingers tracing curve after curve.

“Fourteen hours.” Kame moves, one leg over another, a thigh slipping between his. Jin smells like an old man, or maybe like those of public baths. Kame places an open-mouthed kiss on the spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

Jin pauses, there’s a beat and he recovers. “But.” He groans against Kame’s hair, his thumbs making patterns on Kame’s leg. “You just landed here… what, nine hours ago?”

Kame lets Jin settles over him and he thinks there might be question he missed but Jin is slipping the robe off his body and suddenly, but not soon enough, there’s skin against skin.

There’s now too much heat and for all Kame knows, they could be in a humid, wet-everywhere sauna with its downcast orange lighting fixture and red cedar panelled walls; and this dry, cold shadow dimmed hotel room is just a lie.

There’s nothing much to do, no hassle. They don’t have much time but the world can’t do anything but wait.

Jin moves above him, hips against his, hands gripping, bruising his skin and Kame can’t help but sigh.

“God, I need this.” Jin murmurs somewhere down… him. Kame tosses his head in response, mewling, chapped lips parting. Kame stretches underneath, limbs sprawling, fingers clutching the sheet at his sides.

It’s only been few hours since the last time they made love, even in the same bed, the smell still strong, and engaging. But yes – Kame closes his eyes as his breath hitches – yes, they need this.

Jin slides down, slender fingers smoothing his curves on his way and settles between his thighs, making a lazy pattern on Kame’s abdomen with his warm tongue. Kame hums, his hands running through Jin’s hair. They’ll keep this slow, building up together.

The linen feels nice, probably 400-thread count fancy Egyptian export. The room is half in darkness, half basking in soft strays of morning sunlight. Everything is quiet, but not eerie, just relaxing, almost perfect.

Jin slips further down, wet kisses everywhere. _Everywhere_. The heat is building up, it’s bearable but oh, it’s just common sense to arch his back in that moment Jin’s mouth is – oh – there, just there, fitting perfectly, tongue flicking, hands moving from his hipbone to the back of thighs.

It’s all about building up leisurely, and Jin knows. A moment to spare and Kame might have changed his mind because he’s almost there, just a few more – but Jin moves up and presses against him, and they’re kissing, and Kame can’t decide which is better.

Jin is solid above him: firm and focused. The older is nothing but a stunning package of taut arms, lean muscles, and soft edges. Kame lets him take over the kiss, command the pacing with low grunts, and rough yet reassuring palms – the battle can wait. Now he just wants to lie there and wait for the fulfilment of the promise Jin’s tongue, and hips hold.

Kame can live with this; with Jin hard against him, even if the other has no intention of taking this to another level. It’s fine, the rhythm is fine. Just moving, grinding, hard flesh against his.

Jin’s palm is rough below, touching, the pace faster and it’s warm. Kame wishes to do more but Jin is all over him – another hand smoothing down his sweat-soaked chest, open mouth trailing the line of his throat – and he can only writhe underneath. He senses it coming. Much too soon, he thinks…

But Jin doesn’t let him. Jin knows.

There’s a pause, an agonizing one. “You think you’re ready?” Jin laughs in his ear, voice thick and lazy, the overtone almost overbearing.  
 

  
With half-lidded eyes Kame tries to glare but it might have come out as come-hither look because Jin is kissing him again, hard and sloppy, and they’re pressing together– warm, smooth skin against his own.

“Wait.” Jin breathes, the word heavy on his lips before he moves away and reaches for the side table.

Kame pants bonelessly beneath Jin, but there’s a satisfied grin on his lips even if Jin is still straddling him, still teasing his hard-on with that god-awful slow pace.

He stops himself from thrashing when he’s nearing again with Jin’s teasing alone is responsible. He bites his lips hard and evens out his breathing. Like a good fucked-up martyr.

He hears a quiet squirting sound as Jin squeezes the tube empty and Kame flushes. He wonders when he’ll get over the embarrassment of this part. It never gets old.

There’s a quick distracted move on Jin’s part. Kame breathes hard, like a zealous runner in the last stretch of a marathon, victory close at hand.

And then… a passing touch below, Kame gasps. Seconds ticks away and… _fi_ _nally_ Kame purrs against Jin’s ear as a finger flexes inside him.

It’s weird, always has been weird. It’s seems wrong like it’s not supposed to be there. But Jin is taking everything excruciating slowly and Kame can live with this. Yes, he can.

Jin is nibbling his lower lip, distracting him, murmuring incoherencies and there’s that particular press of heated skins that leaves both of them gasping. Kame reaches down and touches Jin. He sighs as he works on their rhythm together. Yes, Kame’s not the only one feeling helplessly needy here.

“Please say you’re ready.” Jin whispers, and begs – black eyes locked with Kame’s. He’s stiff and growing in Kame’s hand.

Kame can almost taste Jin’s need as he reaches up and kisses the older, “Yes.”

This angle isn’t exactly the wisest one, Kame is sure it’ll hurt later, but urgency hangs between the two of them and, as always, they’re not in a coherent state to experiment.

There are legs propping, kneeling and awkward angles, but they’re so into this and too much in a daze to laugh at themselves.

It’s not perfect, never has been perfect and will never be. Always a meter short or an hour early; unsaid rage and spoken lies. But they’re here, together, defying time zones and exhaustion. And they make it, somehow.

Jin is there, in him, as solid and firm as ever. Familiar mouth and tongue take his mind off the slight pain and the odd feeling of intrusion as his lips mark and trail their way down his shoulder and stretched neck. Jin’s hands are heavy and rather feverish where they settled behind Kame’s thigh and knees.

Kame grunts and Jin smiles against a particular beating vein on his neck. Kame glares, or tries to.

“You’re good?” Jin props himself half on an elbow. Kame blinks.

For Kame Jin has always been a sunrise – muted mixed hues of bright days ahead, but right now, with his hair like a long curtain around that face looking polished with sweat, Jin is a shadow, dark as a moonless midnight. Lines and angles fitting perfectly, jaw line and shoulder blades and long, endless neck – Jin is a beautiful, beautiful dream.

Kame arches his back and Jin is burning as their chests press together. Kame tries not to hiss as he grinds against Jin’s stomach. Somewhere in the time between, Kame has found Jin’s hands and finds it natural to curl his fingers with the older’s, fitting together like a two estranged puzzle pieces with worn-out edges.

The older comes down, hot mouth on his. Jin moves, stealthily, and Kame sighs heavily against the other’s mouth. Limbs tangle together, rhythm not breaking, lithe bodies working together. This is art, Kame thinks.

“Jin.” Kame trembles against his hold but Jin doesn’t stop. He’s there, moving, slow and quiet; still with the leisurely building up.

Jin drags Kame’s hands above their heads and grasps Kame’s wrists with one strong hand. Kame wants to touch as well, to do more in general but he doesn’t exactly fight against Jin’s grip. He likes that. Jin can lead, yes he can do this. The flight was tiring and there will be another concert three days from now and he’s just so exhausted and they’re not even sure if the management was able to –

“You’re thinking too much.” Jin moves and supports himself with an elbow as he leans down, forehead against Kame’s.

Jin smiles ever so fleetingly before balancing his weight on an elbow and on a knee. Jin breathes, movement not stopping, hot air fogging up Kame’s vision.

Kame licks his lips distractedly, “...what?”

  
Jin laughs and presses his lips against the corner of Kame’s lips. “God I love you, Kame.”

Kame closes his eyes and swallows down a mouthful of air and nods. Just nods. Crap, Kame feels like giggling like housewives would over a young tanned, bulked up gardener. But he shouldn’t. Not when they’re still in motion, slowly and steadily building up.

Kame catches Jin’s eyes and sees nothing but swirls of darkness staring back. The other smiles briefly, evilly perhaps, before Kame’s breath hitches and he thrashes underneath.

He cannot believe that Jin can even go fucking slower… that… he… what he was... just –

This time Kame finally struggles but the other just pushes back, goes with that merciless slow pace and trails his free hand on Kame’s curves, down to his stomach and settling on Kame’s belly. His palm is hot, ever teasing and soft and Kame wants to cry.

Jin doesn’t ask nor does Kame. Kame just relaxes, somehow with enough drive of a Maserati’s horsepower, and exhales and Jin simply smiles against his lips and pushes, hard and faster. No drama, no hassle.

Kame presses an ankle against Jin’s back and pushes the older into him, meeting him. They’re working together, that’s right. Rocking, pushing, and slowly dragging it out. Jin is a natural at this.

Jin then falls to his side, looking for a new angle, his lean arms pulling Kame up to follow him.

Kame struggles, their limbs tangled, knees pressing against sweaty, tired calves, and ankles crossing.

“H-h-hey,” Kame calls but Jin merely hums against a particular patch of reddening skin on Kame’s nape.

With a low grunt from the back of his throat, Kame reaches his hands behind him and Jin has gotten the hint. He moves again, elbow propping against the bedding and mattress creaking loudly beneath them. Kame’s eyes flicker through that dark curtain of hair again.

Kame nuzzles his nose on the silky skin just below Jin’s ear before he grips the older’s shoulder and rolls them over, successfully straddling over the other. Jin blinks at him, messy hair splayed over the pillow, before chuckling, “I knew you wouldn’t last that long.”

Kame leans down to catch those lips. “Shut up.” He hisses when he pulls away but Jin still has that drop of a leer in his eyes. Kame ducks his head down, palms feeling sweaty on Jin’s chest, the older’s heart beats running a mile per second.

“…Shut up.”

Jin simply rolls his hips in response.

Kame’s eyebrows are creased in concentration as he places a palm against Jin’s stomach and the other on the knee behind him. Jin’s hands are fixed on his waist.

Then he moves.

 ***

Kame looks up and sees the sky clearing.

The world below hasn’t stopped moving, spinning on its axis. Little ants determined to survive the rainy season.

Shaken they might have been, but life goes on for the rest.

 ***

“…was funny. You think?” Jin says.

Kame frowns from where is currently crushed against Jin’s chest. It’s seems like he’s half underwater, floating with little consciousness, or maybe even none at all. Not a single word registered in Kame's mind and Jin’s amused eyes are peering down, waiting.

“Um.” Kame blinks and the other laughs – the sound warm, clear and suave, and would probably tastes like a vodka tonic on an easy Friday night.

“Shut up.” Kame whispers as he moves up and kisses him. Jin rounds an arm on Kame’s back, guitarist hands on his damp skin.

It’s a quiet moment.

After-shag glow, Kame himself would joke if he were high enough.

Jin is the quixotic one, the one with the deep, reverberating laugh, the one whose words and stories rhyme with metric, synthesized beats only he can create and whose small endearing gestures are understated, the one with the patience of a martyr and the wrath of a saint.

Jin hooks a leg under Kame’s calves and the latter looses balance, elbows giving up and falling down onto the older with soft thump.

Kame laughs against Jin’s mouth as Jin thumbs his flushed cheeks. The linen is clammy against their sticky, warm skin, yet they still feel easy rolling on it, like the fancy sheet is their second skin.

The room is no bigger than Kame’s living room back in Japan. But, like their dancing room with its walls of mirrors, this suite whose walls are cream-washed and whose varnished wood works are run of the mill and almost hypocritical, with its high, straight clear window giving the illusion of larger space, the room is going beyond the restriction, taking liberty from the tangible obstruction. It’s like rebellion materialized, or perhaps romanticized.

“Thank you.” Jin whispers.

Jin’s the quixotic one who makes Kame believes that this is all worth it.

Kame sighs into Jin’s neck.

Outside, the sun is high above them all, giving life to everything its light can reach.

***

The sky is looking rather melancholic with a purple washed horizon and dark orange shade. It’s almost night-time.

There’s a lone vulture above, seeking the dead, hoping to satisfy its need. Kame feels a strange connection to it.

Kame closes his eyes and he hears Tsukuyomi sings in the distance as the wind picks up.

Her voice is getting clearer and stronger by the second, crisp notes resounding in his ears.

***

Jin groans and seeks Kame’s hands in the mess of sheets and tangled limbs.

“Hm?” Kame pulls away and looks at him.

“I have a meeting in an hour.” Jin moves and kisses his knuckles.

Kame smiles beyond Jin’s inept expression.

This is a chimera play, they both know.

“It’s okay. Go take a bath. I’ll be there in a while, I just need to call someone.” He kisses Jin’s hair.

***

It takes her only three rings.

“Hey. It’s me.” Kame whispers. He can hear Jin singing in the shower.

_“Oh! Kame! Sorry! I didn’t recognize the number! How’s Okinawa?”_ He sits on the edge of their bed and wraps the sheet tighter around him. It feels oddly cold.

He imagines the other dropping whatever she’s doing, typing on her computer probably, as she gestures for Ran to come to her.

“Ah yeah.” Kame laughs. “Sorry ‘bout that. Had a problem with my roaming number. Okinawa is fine. It’s relaxing here.”

_“Ah!”_

Kame hears Ran in the background. “Is that my girl there?”

She laughs and Kame feels like a billion dollar fucker. _“Yes, she’s here. She has developed a fondness for your new couch by the way.”_

“Great. She’s back into chewing again?”

_“Oh! Ahhh – there she goes! Ran jumped out of my hold.”_ More laughter with a faint barking in the background. Kame covers his face with a tense palm. “I’m sorry – ” A chuckle squeeze between her words.

“You don’t sound sorry.” The childish whine comes out automatically. Years of acting have finally borne fruit.

“ _Sorry -”_ she giggles. He can see her draw her legs to her chest, as she cosily slumps in the divan by the window. Her short, bouncy bob of brownish red locks looks impressive and almost hypnotic under the fluorescent light. _“ – but she was so adorable chewing the cushion. I’ll check the upholstery repair store around the corner. Maybe we can still do something.”_

Kame smiles, “I miss you.” He says it in spite of himself.

_“...wow. Okinawa’s good for you.”_ she says after a stretched silence and Kame knows she’s all flushed right now, not knowing what to say, always the shy, and romantically awkward one.

“Could be.” He laughs, lightly.

_“Come home soon, okay.”_ She’s looking at her toes now.

“I will.” Kame promises.

_“…I love you.”_

“I love you too.” Kame lies.

***

He stands and leaves the sheet behind, walking through the room undressed with little care.

It’s almost the middle of the day and he sees a mountain range far beyond the stretch of the concrete jungle below.

Kame looks at his own faint reflection in the glass window. The sunlight is making it difficult for him to see his face properly, light deflecting his image and the lively midday California distracting his focus.

As the cloud moves, he finally sees himself.

With one finger, he touches his reflection, trailing from one of his eyes to his jawline.

Here’s the man in the mirror, he thinks with a smile.

***

Kame is curled up in the bed again, her voice still lingering in his ears like she’s there beside him in this moment, and it’s her skin he’s remembering and not Jin’s.

Jin’s phone is vibrating on the side table.

Kame looks at the ceiling and notices the start of a peeling paint job.

Jin is still singing in the shower and Kame finds himself humming along.

By mid song, as Jin hits the highest notes Kame finally moves and glances at the other’s phone.

His eyes stay still on the screen for a moment until it finally stops ringing.

He stands and leaves the sheet behind, walking through the room undressed with little care.

***

And as the sun dies, Tsukuyomi materializes at his side.

She whispers. “It was a good fight.”

***

Seconds after he hears the door opening, Jin’s smell is all over him, warm arms firm around his bare form, and warmer mouth on his shoulders.

Kame tries his best to find and stare at their reflection in the glass window. The sun is too bright now.

“I was waiting for you in there.” Jin says. Kame reaches both hands behind him and touches the other’s damp hair, fingers running through slowly. Jin smells strangely sweet with aloe vera and vanilla; tuberose as well but Kame wouldn’t dare suspect.

“Mmmm. What’re you doing standing naked in front of the window? Are you feeling kinky?” Jin laughs in his ear.

Kame closes his eyes and smiles. “Maybe.”

“ _Kame_ ,” Jin groans on his hair, “I have a meeting. And you have a flight.” Kame chuckles and he feels light, like he’s high, floating. If he concentrates enough he would feel a waft of warm air and hear soft singing in the distance.

Kame tilts his head and Jin finds a new special patch of skin on the side of his neck.

“Your phone was ringing.”

Jin pauses and doesn’t breathe. “Who was it?”

Jin’s robe feels comfortable on his skin as he leans against the older, his fingers locked behind Jin’s head.

“Dunno. I didn’t look at your phone.”

Kame feels it as Jin closes his eyes, as Jin’s lashes touch his skin. “Probably my manager.” Jin is trailing a palm down onto his stomach, then up again, as the other hand traces the muscles on his stretched arms. His lips are still firmly placed on Kame’s neck.

“Probably.”

***

Kame kneels down and touches the remains of the spun threads, now mere lifeless ashes. They hold no colour, no trace of their former quaint charm.

The night is dark but it’s hot, like the earth is steaming, like it would usually right before a heavy downpour.

“Just create new memories, my friend,” she says and before he can turn to look at her, she’s gone.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

>  **Quipus** are colored spun and plied thread or strings, which the Incas used as recording devices. Conquistadors destroyed most of the quipus. [Read more](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quipu)  
>  **Quechua** is the spoken language of the natives of South America. [Read more](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quechua)  
>  **Tsukuyomi-no-kami** is the moon god in Shinto and Japanese mythology. [Read more](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto)  
>  Original photos credit goes to [deviantart](http://www.deviantart.com/), [tucoo](http://tucoo.com/) , [](http://pornvilai.livejournal.com/profile)[**pornvilai**](http://pornvilai.livejournal.com/)  and [](http://kattunlove.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://kattunlove.livejournal.com/)**kattunlove**  


End file.
